“Where’s Marty?” she asked.
“I’m right here,” Marty said, to her right. He took her hand and squeezed it. “We’re all alright. Everyone is here.”
“No thanks to you, sleeping beauty.” Vin scowled.
As the seconds ticked on, her confused mind gave way to further clarity, and she looked around. Vin was in her face, angry. Janice was carrying Emily, who whimpered, her lavender sweatshirt streaked with blood. Blood splattered Marty’s orange sweat suit, and he held his shotgun, the barrel pointed down. Vin’s face was bloody and bruised. She sat up and saw her sword—now bloody—on the floor near her, next to Vin’s spiffy shotgun. She widened her eyes.
“What happened?” she asked. “Where’d all this blood come from?”
“While you were getting your beauty sleep,” Vin said, “we were busy fighting four zombies.” He pointed at Jocelyn’s sword. “That was useful, though not near as much as you let on. You were not. I’m calling a meeting. Break room. Five minutes.” Vin turned to Alexander. “Make sure she’s awake and coherent, or I swear I’ll kill this bitch.”
At that, he turned around and walked out without another word.
“I’m sure Vin didn’t mean it literally,” Alexander said while looking at Janice and Jize. “He’s angry, and I don’t blame him.” He looked at Jocelyn. “Jocelyn’s exhausted. You all go to the break room. I’ll take care of her.”
Marty nodded. “Okay,” was all he said. Jize and Janice—still carrying a whimpering Emily—turned and left in silence.
“Marty knows,” Alexander murmured. “No one else does.”
“That’s good. Marty already knew. Oh, Alexander, I really screwed things up.” Profound sadness took hold. Another violent psychotic break. She felt so low that Vin killing her would be a relief. At least she would be rid of her illness for good. Maybe she would have a chance before they left in the morning to kill herself, to take a lot of sleeping pills.
Was it realistic to think that someone could find a cure just because of her? Was it worth the risk of another psychotic break? What if she killed some more innocent people?
Even the draugar were innocent victims; they had no control over their behavior. People killed draugar so why not kill her? If Vin knew what had really happened, he would kill her for sure.
And she would welcome it.
Alexander moved to her side, placed his arm over her shoulders, and gave a gentle squeeze. “You didn’t screw up. It is an illness.”
Jocelyn looked up and saw a caring man—handsome and smart and now reassuring. She allowed her head to rest on his arm, and she found she liked him very much.
Teary-eyed, she broke away from his hug, wiped her eyes, and stood up. She felt vulnerable and didn’t want Alexander to witness her in this state.
“Thanks, Alexander, but I’m fine.” She wasn’t fine.
She looked down at him and genuine concern reflected in his eyes. He told her how he faked Vin/Marty’s stabbing, about the medicines he’d administered to her, and that he’d swiped all the haloperidol from the pharmacy.
Shit. Not haloperidol again. She’d been on that before—the old standard medication that worked well, but for which the side effects were annoying and embarrassing. More than annoying. She had developed Tardive dyskinesia while on it before—kind of like a mouth tic that can become permanent, even once you’ve discontinued the medication.
What dosage had she been on way back then? She forgot and would have to wing it.
And wing it she would. A part of her desperately wanted to kill herself, but Saint Michael had put her on a mission to get her meds. She would ask him her next step when she got a chance, but she knew what she had to do.
Go to Colorado Springs. Become a guinea pig.
Alexander stood up and they both headed for the break room. Jocelyn saw two dead, headless draugar down a grocery aisle about twenty feet from the pharmacy counter. She felt another pang of guilt at not being there to defend the group.
No one dealt with the dead zombies for now.
When Jocelyn and Alexander entered the break room, Emily was crying, held by Janice on the couch.
“Vin,” Janice said. “Charming, why don’t you come over and give your princess a hug?”
Jocelyn expected Vin to scowl as usual, but his bruised face softened as he went over to the couch and picked up the little girl who wrapped her arms around his neck.
“Charming, you saved me again,” Emily said. “My head hurts.”
Vin’s face broke down and he closed his eyes. Is he crying?
“She will be fine,” Janice said. “She doesn’t appear to have a concussion. A few bruises, but she’s a tough girl. I gave her a small dose of Tylenol.”
Vin nodded and gave Emily back to Janice. He ran his hand through his hair, composing himself before giving Jocelyn a grim expression.
“How can we trust Jocelyn if she sleeps during a critical time?”
Marty grunted. “It doesn’t matter. We need to bring her to Colorado Springs.”
This time Vin gave the familiar scowl. “I suppose you’re right. I suppose the zombies have come back. Let’s hope they’re not in strong numbers. Janice, when can Emily travel?”
“I think she needs to sleep the night.”
“Okay, we leave first thing in the morning as planned. In the meantime, let’s barricade the doors.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Day Nine
An hour into her watch, Jocelyn felt the familiar tingling on the back of her neck.
She still did not understand what caused it. It wasn’t like she could consult a neurologist.
A while later, she yawned, closed her eyes, and rubbed where it tingled, but that didn’t help. A screech came from the vicinity of the double doors. She silently cursed herself and opened her eyes.
Too dark to discern anything but silhouettes, she guessed the continuing screech was from the barricade of tables
